by Tim Duffy Olivier Collet In the parking lot, the men walk bow-legged, like cowboys after the last cattle-thief has been shot. In the town, the mines have already collapsed and they drive from shuttered windows to orange signs, a cigar in the mouth casting shadows on the too-bright shirt, the sidewalk, the worn jeans stretched with a faint pile of cash. When we approach, we were told it was our destiny to destroy the last great citadel of desire. Secretly, we hoped to be tu